I guess things are not going so good. I don’t feel like anyone is really excited about anything I’m doing right now. I’m in a physical place where I have no privacy, schedule or spark in my life. Things are starting to taste bland.

Part of this is the fact that no one has any reason to invest anything in me unless I’m in crisis or causing a disturbance of some sort. I’m useful, mind you. I do often work my ass off and contribute. I am appreciated for that in a small sense.

The thing I am beginning to understand is that I’m not desirable. I’m not someone who would compel one to invest energy, love, time or words in. Some people got excited about me for a time. Then they learn who I am, and they distance themselves. They did not like the whole-me thing apparently. I can understand that, most of the time I don’t either.

Puts me in a tough spot. No one is giving me feedback about what makes me so undesirable or repulsive, so I’m not sure how to change. I don’t want to be this way, where I am just a piece of luggage. I’m clearly easy enough to walk away from. I think the reality of all this is starting to really harden around my ankles.

Today, I realize that even if I wasn’t permanently diseased, stigmatized and obese I would still probably be pretty easy to hate. Or forget.

My parents will always love me, it’s true. They’d prefer I not be too much trouble, which is no burden on them and I agree that I should aspire to that end; as it should be. However, they are under no obligation to give a shit about me beyond that. My passions or my thoughts however, are neglected the attention I feel they deserve. I’m not worth investing the time into because no one ever engages me fundamentally on any of the things that are strictly in my court, no matter how many times I do the same for them. This is the story of my relationships: give to my partner endlessly to keep her around, and loose her once I’m to tired to maintain the charade.

If not for my eagerness to try to do right all the time, I’d be just another mentally ill degenerate living like a parasite in the intestines of the middle class. Since that fate didn’t sound particularly fulfilling… I sought alternatives.

Somewhere between penitential servitude and true happiness there is a grey space. Things here seem real, but never feel like they are. What I have now are the distant cosmic echoes of massive emotional explosions, peaks, troughs and all the feels in between. They hang in my night sky like fading stars, with only the most distant of outlines left, reminding me of what they had been.

There is no where to go from here. I’m not going to be able to change myself into a more desirable person. I am at a crossroads where one direction leads to implosion, and the other leaves me fighting for my life an a sealed compartment rapidly filling with seawater.

I wish you the best on your journey. I don’t know if I really want to keep going on mine anymore.

I have been feeling back in the groove creatively, and that is most welcome. In truth, I am at a place of development with my fiction than I ever thought I could be. I have the text outlined, the chapters mostly drawn up, and the first 5 are written. The style I am going to use is really unique: both prose fiction and epistolary style for the narrative structure, which will present some really poignant insights into different locales around the Kingdom.

As this has been going for a while, so too had my hope of rekindling a friendship with Jax. When she and I set out to write Ruptured Worlds, I thought we were on the verge of something that would bind us together. Turns out, a few days later I tried to kill myself, and Jax cheated on me while I was in the psychiatric hospital. Guess I was wrong that first time, and again just now when Jax let me know I was the worst thing ever and that I should go away.

Now I know this road will be mine to walk alone, without the orgasmic genius of combining two realities into one twisted story. That thought is so awesome… what a fantastic thing to do with someone you love. This was my thought. However, now I must lean on my own skills and the story I have crafted, and hope that carries me to a successful place. I don’t plan on making money off the books; they should be free for anyone to enjoy.

When my cases are settled, and the money is in the bank, I will be pursuing my career as a Peer Support Specialist and also writing my masterpiece. One day, I will be done, and looking back on this chance with my ex with laughter. She missed out on a rad-ass gravy train, I can promise you that. I am a hedonist, and I do enjoy the getting of fucked up. I also enjoy my life, which has largely been without her. I have hurt feelings, yes, after having been so soundly rejected. I’m not the person she thinks I am, and her reaction was like: “are you really talking to me?”

Petty.

Anyway, I’m trying to process, and stepping forward. I am proud of who I am now and encouraged further by who I am becoming. Maybe I will meet a peer someday,who I can love and respect. Probably not.

I’m still in a thought-provoking place about all this. I know my own intentions, and I stand by my transparency. You can read my whole process, I have no secrets here.

I only wish for positive steps forward, hence why I am not uncivilly engaging in a poo war (despite being invited). I think that first poo salvo she launched flew right over my ship, narrowly missing. I didn’t fire off a poo in the first place HMS Jacqueline, but hey, I’m not going to judge.

What I need, is to remember to have high standards for companionship, and past evidence nurtures that philosophy. Good thing my right hand can’t free itself of my arm or it might have joined Jax in the big pile of exes who hate me now. My hand is like: you never appreciated me, bitch!

I life is already so dramatic. Does it have to be that way all the fucking time? NO GODDAMNIT, WE’RE AT WAR.

Hope you have a good day blog. Hopefully no one you still love holds contempt for you in their mind.

In response to my request to say goodbye to my ex before I move north: She doesn’t want to see me. She has great contempt as well. I am to never contact her again. Ever. Ever.

Seems pretty final.

Not the way I had hoped things would go. Considering how much I have managed to change and grow over the years, I was hoping the same would be true of her. One of the really valuable things I came to learn is that what I carry with me can either propel me forward, or hold me back. Resentment, anger over past mistreatment, hatred… these are such crushingly negative emotional burdens. The worst part about it, is that nothing from the past will ever change. What was at first glance outrageous continues to be so long after the events are passed. I call these types of people “past-lookers.” Despite the passage of time, they remain anchored to a moment in the past that causes anguish or preoccupation in present times. Amanda was a product of this mentality, and she always wished she was back in high school or earlier in life, when she was younger, when life felt really good. Jax seems to be much the same sort, unable to release herself from the burdens of admitted and unaccepted atrocities. I’ve done and seen some pretty fucked up things, and boy oh boy do I have a lot I wish I could do over again. Living in that regret does nothing to help me now. Wishing I was back in a time when things were good is basically the same thing. Nothing that was will be again.

So Jax still hates me, which I had hoped wasn’t the case. But now at least I don’t have any lingering questions in my mind. Since “[She] only hold[s] contempt for [me], what [I] did and how I treated [her],” it is clear to me that things haven’t changed or grown. All of this is actually great fodder for my ongoing independent status. Jax isn’t right though. I’m not who she thinks I am. I think I became that in her mind, because that allows her to live life despite the truly treacherous things she’s done. Hateful things that I had long ago released myself of concern for. It’s a terrible weight, carrying around that badness. It’s like trying to fly away with your feet stuck in the mud. Going forward is all the more difficult when you can’t release the burdens of the past.

I’m a fucked up guy Blog, but I am not as irreconcilably awful as this woman thinks I am. I have so much more pride in myself than I did then, with her. Since that time, I have grown into someone I can feel good about being, doing a job that returns me to worth. I can feel proud of myself, without blaming anyone but me for my problems. Not very many people choose to do that, because it’s easier to demonize, assign blame, and emerge unscathed. I have taken my lashes, and I wear the scars proudly.

Maybe someday I will meet a “forward-looker” and together we might talk about possibilities instead of regrets. We only have so much time here in the world. I’m not going to spend it regretting. Let’s make a new adventure, shall we? See how fucking eloquent I am? I’m not wasting my time on Jax anymore, these mad skills belong with someone worthy of them.

So I decided to ask to see if Jax would talk to me before I go far away. It’s been years. Basically, the thought of leaving and probably not ever seeing her again has weighed on me. In fact, I have become increasingly conflicted the more I explore this thought-chain. I still have love in my heart for her, maybe the strongest I ever had in all my life. So much so that the echoes of it are still strong. I am leaving, and I need to say goodbye, from my heart. We have probably changed a lot since we last talked, but I still remember all the things I love about her. I hope she has some of those for me, and maybe that is enough between us to walk out on to the bridge this last time.

The likely alternative is that she is gone, and will not respond, and I will not see her again. Something inside me has still not let her go. She is still a part of me, and a little thread still connects us. I wish I had done things differently, yes, that is true. However, all I have left is the time still to go in front of me. I want the Jax place in my heart to have a resolution, and not feel like a partially ajar door as we zoom down the freeway.

Well, I hope I get to say goodbye. As I said earlier, I never loved anyone as much as I loved her. She lit a fire in me that still burns today. I wish I could thank her, but I probably won’t get the chance.

As time marches forward, I feel the opportunity for partnership slipping away. If there is any one glaring truth about my past relationships is that none of them were ever all that interested in me, or lost interest after a period of time had gone by. I am also a rarely constant person, which can be misinterpreted at so many intervals it boggles the mind with possibilities. I look at myself now, as I am, and I see someone who is too unique to be related-to or loved. I am a compilation of irritating flaws and brilliant insights colliding explosively on volatile ground. I have had only a handful of people in my world who have any hope of truly understanding me, and none of them are all that interested in me. Its intoxicating to have someone in your world who is excited about you. It’s a thrill to feel elated with relevance, and have the concerns of your mind inherited, embraced and expanded by another. Such a thing is worth waiting a lifetime to have just a glimpse at, and I fear, something I will never know.

I have old, unrequited love in my heart that lays there on the shore like a decaying trout. I’m not sure what to do with this, but all looking at it does is make me want to reach out to my exes which I am certain would be a bad thing inevitably. That’s not the answer, I tell myself. Why? Because they left you, and largely because you weren’t interesting enough to keep them around. When they got to know you, they didn’t like what they saw. Am I destined to repeat a similar pattern the more I try to find someone? I feel like there is no one alive who would willingly inherit my burdens for the chance at something transcendent. I do believe in love, very strongly as a matter of fact. I believed that love was something that wasn’t just abandoned when it was no longer interesting. Love is worth fighting for. I loved each and every one of my exes with passion, but that wasn’t enough to keep them when things were less than ideal.

No blame, but definitely a case study in what the future will likely hold. In the profession I am headed into, there are possibilities that I could meet someone in a potentially impossible context. I really think there is a glimmer of hope still, but not something I will be sticking my nose into for more sniffs. I feel thrown out enough times to be okay with being trash. Knowing what you know about me, I’m clearly not a hot commodity. Maybe one day I will be. I don’t think I ever need to be, but I do sincerely miss that feeling of having someone who was excited about getting to know me. Being explored, exploring someone else in return. Swapping truths and secrets. Making love together for the first time. These moments are like images captured in frames, still, lifeless, but forever ensnared in a shining moment where things felt beyond this world.

It is a struggle, but I come here to cope. Knowing that you will probably never be loved again is a hard thing to deal with, and not at all certain (even if it feels otherwise). It is, nevertheless, a truth I am preparing for since the path to companionship has become long ago lost in the obfuscating shroud of perception. I have not enough desirable to outweigh the repulsive. It is reality I strive to change, which is clearly an exercise in futility. Stigmatized and appropriately relegated. I’m not in a great place mentally. I don’t feel good about myself as someone that someone else would ever want. Physically I’m about as repulsive as I’ve ever been in all my life. I’m headed downhill as of the end of this post.

Well I’m having a down day after game night last night. The lowered dose of Latuda might be a part of that. I had to step down as the higher doses were causing me some barfing of the not good variety. Mainly though, I’m feeling sad inside my body, penetrating all the way through my skin. I feel weighed down, slow, unresponsive and lethargic. Nothing captivates me, or even renders much of a distraction in my current state. I find myself thinking about being alone, and feeling lonely. I cherished companionship as much as I squandered it, and that truth has left me empty handed and futureless. I knew such vibrant women, and they all went away. Now I am all by myself in this world, being the only person I know who can consistently tolerate me.

My parents have done masterfully in regard to protecting me and keeping me from imploding. They are a constant anchor in the real world that I cherish. However, they are not that piece which represents a level of unattainable completeness or symbiosis. A central expression of meaningful union in partnership which has eluded me my entire life. In truth, the disability is my own, in my inability to conduct myself properly or consistently in my past relationships. I may be unloading the guilt cargo onto myself.

Now what? I have a frustrating amount of uncertainty in my future and also I am feeling less than inspired by my situation. It’s been a year since I even touched a woman, let alone had a relationship. The ache of absenteeism from participation grows over time, but becomes no more attainable as the moments pass. What are these memories of love? Are they joyous or are they a burden? I look at them and see what could have been, if only I knew then what I know now, and so on. The hindsight helps nothing. The core of it is that I am alone and remain alone, because that is what my life is right now. Largely by my own manifestations, but some due to exterior decision making, I have forged a path of aloneness.

I don’t think I should be allowed to hurt anyone again. I am quarantined, restricted and buried deep at the bottom of a mine shaft. I wish I hadn’t blown my chance to really be that person I had hoped I could be. The shape of my life has moved me past that point, and only the echoes of the days that have passed in the rare light of summer sunset. Every man has a time in his life where he sees the top of the mountain, the pinnacle of emotion, the height of passion and has a chance to relish that moment. That time, was some of the best time of my life. Subsequently, there were polar extremes in that time but the emotions I felt, the passion, the love, it was all so real and more beautiful than anything I have ever known. Those times are gone as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. I will never forget. I could never forget.

Maybe the future has something more for me, but I have no expectation. I plan to give whatever I have left to my family. They are the only thing that matters now. They never left me, they always helped me when I obliterated my existence. Many women have told me they loved me, but none of them did enough to want to stay and help me when the shit hit the fan. The terrible truth of my disability, the rapid deterioration of functionality, the heinous obesity of decay which permeates. I was too ugly to love in that state, and something more appealing was elsewhere. In the arms of another man or another life, there is a lure stronger than the word “love” which calls louder than the morality of the implication. What does love really imply? Is it worth fighting for? What does it mean to fight for love? See if there was even a shred of functional communication in any of those relationships we might have had a chance. Rot led to infection and then death, ignored, untreated, unaddressed. If ever I am to have happiness in the arms of another in my life it will need to have a FOUNDATION of communication. Core principle.

I don’t want to go back. What was back clearly didn’t work. I have evolved since then, and become more of a complete person now than at any point in my life. I do believe I have the tools I need to succeed despite my circumstance and emotional hardships. I loved them, but I couldn’t really talk to any of them. I didn’t know how. Neither did they. It took me nearly 15 years to learn, but fuck, I’m not going to sit here and bitch about being alone and not do a damn thing to change the reasons I am alone. If you can’t communicate, learn how! If you want to find someone who understands your definition of love? Try making it really clear what you stand for, what drives you and what you believe in. I’m not hopeless. It’s stupid to be hopeless since the future is entirely unwritten.

Thanks for being a part of my process this morning. I’m just dealing with my thoughts out here.

About Me and My Perogative

I have been struggling with Bipolar Disorder since 2003, and this blog is one of my coping mechanisms. I come here to express the reality of my symptoms and find meaning in my experiences, positive or negative. My journey since 2012 has been captured here in thousands of posts and comments. I will promise you honesty always when I share, even during symptomatic times.
I volunteer for NAMI San Diego as a Side by Side companion and I am pursuing a career in Mental Health. My goal is to achieve stability for myself, and give back to those who have no one there to help them in their time of need.